


Speechless

by SnowAndRayne



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Citadel of Ricks, Emphasis on Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to past trauma, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:48:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25434919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowAndRayne/pseuds/SnowAndRayne
Summary: Rick ɑ-295 is even more damaged than most Ricks (and we all know that's saying something) though his alpha-dimensional status affords him a cushy place in the Citadel class hierarchy, he lives each mundane day exactly the same. He fancies himself to be grudgingly progressive: disliking the class system, hating his privilege, and tiring of his ilk.But when he finally caves to convention and adopts a Morty, he realizes just how little he really knows about the universe.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 13
Kudos: 105





	1. Adoption

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be a very fluffy hurt/comfort fic. There will be angst, because I can't help myself, but the emphasis is on the healing and not the hurt. This also won't be nearly as long as my other fics as I wanted to do something shorter and sweeter.

As he approached The Morty Assignment Centre, Rick ɑ-295 still wasn’t entirely sure what he was thinking. He’d never actually had a Morty though he had considered getting one several times over the course of his career. But now that he read the letter of offer for the thirteenth or fourteenth time, he became more at home with the idea. He was growing tired of the constant presence of other Ricks.

The Morty Assignment Centre was a large building in one of the snazzier innercity districts of the Citadel. On the surface, it gave the impression of a rather ordinary government building: polished gold exterior with traditional blue accents, an ornate canopy sheltering the unnecessarily wide entrance which opened like a gaping mouth into the building’s stylishly minimalist foyer.

And that’s where things were… _different._

The walls were brightly coloured in the most childish-looking mural Rick had seen since the early drafts of Jerryboree. Unrealistically adorable aliens grinned down at him from cartoon planets while crude paintings of Morties that looked to be on bad medication made up a frieze around the room’s interior.

Judging by the variety, the interior decorator was clearly told he needed to _‘celebrate diversity,’_ Rick thought as his eyes locked onto a Morty that looked to be a distant relation to Mayor McCheese.

“How can I help sir?” asked the Rick at the front desk.

“Uh, y-yeah…” Rick stammered, still weirded out by Morty McCheese, he placed his letter as well as his dimensional ID on the reception desk. “I’ve been assigned a M-Morty apparently.”

The receptionist nodded and took the documents. His eyes widened at once.

“Y-You’re an alpha-dimension Rick?”

“Uh. Yeah…”

Rick cringed as the Rick began stammering apologies and platitudes.

“As an alpha Rick,” (Rick visibly winced at the title he hated) “y-y-your s-s-tatus means you are able to choose o-o-one of our Highly Desirables.”

“Huh?” Rick blinked, thrown. “I th-thought my Morty was already assigned.”

“Oh no, noooo….” the receptionist seemed flustered. “We automatically assign Morties to, y’know, other Ricks.”

Rick did not like the classist emphasis on the word _‘other’_ but tried not to let his expression betray him.

“Look,” Rick stated flatly, “I d-don’t really care what kind of Morty I get to be honest. Highly Desirable or otherwise, why don’t you—you go on upstairs and pick one out for me?”

“Oh!” cried the receptionist, “but don’t you want to see the candidates?”

“Not really.”

Rick’s no-nonsense tone seemed to have gotten the message across to the skittish receptionist and he thankfully did not question it.

“I’ll be right back, sir.”

Receptionist Rick scurried away like a frightened mouse and Rick’s one good eye narrowed as he watched him go. It wasn’t just the receptionist’s thoroughly unRicklike behavior, it was the fact that his appearance and his stupid fucking dimensional number seemed to inevitably trigger such displays fairly often. Greek letter dimensions were frequently considered to be high up on the pecking order and one couldn’t get much higher than Alpha. But the arbitrary hierarchy bothered Rick to no end. It was stupid that Ricks—entities that considered themselves above governments and societies—had become a stupid government-run society; complete with class divides and messed-up political systems… it was a cosmic joke.

Watching a Rick act like he should be kissing his ring made Rick want to vomit. The man should have some fucking Rick-dignity.

When the man did not return for a concerning amount of time,Rick began to regret giving Receptionist Rick the instruction to choose his Morty for him. Rick started to feel restless. Like most Ricks, Rick disliked spending too much time shackled in one place and he began impatiently tapping his foot loudly against the floor. He imagined Receptionist Rick and the other Ricks upstairs all trying to figure out which Morty-graduate to give the mysterious alpha and grimaced. He looked at the tastelessly decorated wall once again and just hoped he didn’t end up with a Morty McCheese.

After an annoyingly long wait, Receptionist Rick finally returned with a fairly ordinary-looking Morty in tow.

“Sir, I’m s-sorry about—about the wait, s-sir, h-here is—”

But Rick shot the man a menacing glare and the Rick was rendered silent.

“Is this some kind of _joke?_ ” Rick snarls and his counterpart shrinks back in fright.

“N-n-n-no, s-sir! I-I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to offend!” The Rick’s trademark stammer had gone into overdrive with nerves which just served to infuriate Rick further.

The Morty was almost completely ordinary: dark brown eyes, tanned, ruddy brown hair. The only difference, and it was an obvious one, was theprominent slash across the boy’s scrawny neck.

“The Ricks upstairs, they… they can’t actually _see_ you sir. I… that is to say, _we_ , certainly didn’t mean to offend you sir—” Rick’s gaze sid back and forth from the snivelling Rick to the disfigured Morty and back again. He wished the stupid man would stop calling him _sir._ “You see… he-he’s—the Morty’s that are unable to talk are some of the highest in demand.”

Rick’s eyes were suddenly fixed on the receptionist, piercing the man in place with contempt at what he was implying.

“But if you—if you want a better Morty, I will gladly find you one more suitable.”

“Please.” Rick said through gritted teeth. “I’ll come with you this time, since apparently you can’t follow a simple request without humiliating yourself.”

All three of them made their way toward the elevators. Rick’s stride had lengthened with his anger as they approached and the grovelling receptionist had to hurry to keep himself at the front.

Rick couldn't believe the _audacity_. They kept him waiting and then offered him something that was both disfigured and handicapped! It was an insult! It was more than enough to make his stomach turn!

They stood in front of the elevators and the receptionist pressed the button to the twenty-eighth floor with a trembling finger, Rick was about to come at him with a cutting remark about the man’s wasted IQ points when a sniffle behind him snatched his attention.

Rick turned sharply and his outrage dissolved when he saw the glistening tear-filled eyes of the Morty he had just rejected.

_Oh shit!_

The kid is trembling and holding his elbow, looking sadly at the glowing elevator numbers that are gradually counting down to their floor.

What happened to the kid? Rick looks at the dark red half-circle that glided across the Morty’s throat, drinking in the dread on his face and the wet sheen of his cheeks. More importantly, what’s going to happen to him _now?_

The receptionist had said that the Morties that were unable to talk were some of the highest in demand. Rick winced. Of course, a Morty that couldn’t talk was obviously unable to say no. A Morty that couldn’t speak also couldn’t fucking _scream._

The elevator doors opened and Rick shut his eyes pinched the bridge of his nose.

_Damn it…_

“Ugh! Wait.”

The receptionist turned to look at him. “Yes sir? Wh-what can I—”

“I’ll take him.”

Both the receptionist and the Morty were wearing matching expressions of surprise.

“A-Are you sure, sir? We… we do have plenty of other Morties. More attractive, less intelligent, rarer…”

“Look,” Rick interrupted sharply, “I’ve already spent way longer here than I wanted to and I don’t wanna—I don’t want to fuck around any more than I already have.” Rick sighed impatiently and hoped he wouldn’t regret it. Hey, at least he wouldn’t end up with Morty McCheese. “Just give me his paperwork and I’ll—I’ll adopt him.”

After a beat in which no one spoke, the receptionist awkwardly cleared his throat and nodded at Rick politely.

“Alright, r-right this way sir.”


	2. Seduction

The flyer ride to Rick’s apartment is long and predictably awkward, given the pair were unable to hold any semblance of conversation. When they eventually arrive, Rick swipes his keycard at the elevators and ushers Morty into the claustrophobic space. For the second time that day, Morty watches glowing white elevator numbers light up one after the other, only this time they count upwards instead of down.

Yet, as the numbers climb, Morty’s stomach sinks lower and lower with mounting dread. This Rick, despite his scarred and haggard appearance, is one of the _elite._ He’s as high up on the pecking order as one can get. And Morty knows from experience that the higher the rank, the more entitled the Rick will be to his body.

Morty tries not to flinch when the elevator stops at the top floor and the doors open with a loud _ping!_ His new Rick doesn’t grab him or manhandle him to the front door of his apartment, instead he simply leads the way without a word.

Morty isn’t entirely sure if that’s an improvement. Is this Rick really so entitled that he can just walk where he wants and know Morty will trot after him like an obedient dog? Morty scowls at the thought.

If this Rick thinks that’s the case, he’d rather be back on the streets in Mortytown.

Rick pauses when he realizes Morty hasn’t followed him out of the elevator. He turns and looks at him expectantly.

“You coming or what?”

Morty narrows his eyes.

He could press the button the ground floor and make a bolt for it. Would he make it past the foyer? And what would happen if he escaped? Could he find work somewhere? Or would he have to return to his old life on the street?

Worse, what would this Rick do to him if he failed to escape? Would the Rick put him in a shock collar or have him surgically implanted with one of those mind-control chips he’d heard about?

After weighing up the odds, he decides against running right now and instead follows his new Rick. He waits for Rick to unlock the door and then lets himself be led into the man’s apartment. The door opens and Morty steps through…

  
  


...into somewhere out of this world.

  
  


So _this_ is how the other side lives.

  
  


The first thing that catches Morty’s attention is the high ceiling. It towers lavishly above him in a gentle arch, leaving him feeling exposed and insignificant, like one might feel entering a grand cathedral. The walls and ceiling are lined with homely striped wallpaper that is a unique shade of white that glows with gold when caught by the setting artificial sun.

The second thing that draws Morty’s eye is the floor.

Just about every surface in The Citadel is hard and cold: tiles, concrete or metal. And aRick’s penthouse apartment is not an exception. But instead of something unfeeling like tiles, the floor is lovingly varnished redwood, which catches the colours of the white-gold walls and lit up the room with warm golden light.

But that is nothing compared to the _view._

Before Morty can stop himself, he has found himself slowly approaching the glass that replaced the North-facing wall of the apartment. The city glitters beneath his gaze. All hustle and bustle and hostility well out of earshot and all Morty can see is the sheer _beauty_ of The Citadel. He didn’t know it was possible to feel so insignificant and yet at the same time so _above_ everything.

Humbled, Morty finds himself breaking into a stupidly broad smile.

“Huh,” Morty hears Rick behind him and, suddenly remembering the man’s looming presence, bristles. He turns to see the man removing his coat and hand it to a robotic arm that has protruded from the wall. “Guess I… guess I kinda forget to take in the view sometimes, l-living here for so long.”

The robotic arm disappears somewhere inside the wall and Morty’s breath hitches.

As homely and beautiful as Rick’s apartment may be, he must remember where he is and who he is with. Ricks are geniuses. Scientists, engineers, innovators, inventors, _invest_ _o_ _rs…_ And nothing is ever as it seems on The Citadel.

The Rick’s smile falters along with Morty’s and he approaches him. Morty tenses.

“W-would you like to go outside?”

Morty raises an eyebrow and watches Rick as he strides past him. To Morty’s nervous excitement, Rick opens a glass door in the centre of the window and Morty realizes that it opens to a tiled balcony. Outside he finds an outdoor couch set out to face the view along with a pretty wooden coffee table.

But that’s it.

When Morty turns back to look inside he realizes that the penthouse living area in fact contains very little furniture. There is a rather nice crescent-shaped couch that takes up the majority of the space and a very large Persian-style rug gives the illusion of occupied space but apart from that, the place is sparse.

Morty isn’t entirely sure what that means exactly. Clearly, this Rick lives a bachelor lifestyle—as is the same with most Ricks—but even though he can clearly afford more impressive belongings he hasn’t bothered.

Does this Rick perhaps not have many friends?

A pang of pity momentarily stabs Morty’s heart and he shoos it away in a hurry. It would not be wise to regard a Rick with sympathy. They are predators with little difference between them.

“Morty?”

Morty turns sharply at the sound of his name.

“Sh-shall I show you to your room?”

Morty nods and follows the man through the main living area to a hallway.

“The master bedroom is just at the end here,” Rick explains, “and your bedroom is right next to it here.”

Morty steps inside and Rick gives him a hopeful smile. The room is big enough to fit a Queen-sized bed, a desk, and several empty bookcases, and _still_ left plenty of floor space. As much as Morty liked the redwood floors, he is relieved to see soft beige carpet here instead. It makes the room feel cozier despite its size. And, to Morty’s pleasure, there is even a little window seat adorned with squashy green cushions set against a generously sized bay window looking out over the city.

“There’s plenty of space for you to put away your—oh.” Rick looked at Morty awkwardly. “You… uh… I g-guess you didn’t bring anything.”

Morty shakes his head.

“Well,” Rick shrugs. “I guess since this is your home now, what’s mine is yours.” Morty blinked at that. “Even though I admit I don’t like to own a lot of stuff. Can I get you a-anything? Water? Tea? Um… s-something?”

Morty gives Rick a cold look and then Rick realizes his mistake.

“Ah! Of course, hold on,” Rick leaves and then returns with a pen and paper. “H-here.”

 **Tea.** Morty scribbles before politely adding: **please** and then handing the paper back to Rick.

Rick looks at the paper and his face visibly softens at the word. Morty frowns at the reaction. Surely, plenty of people are polite to an elite-level Rick?

Rick nods and leaves to fetch it.

Morty watches the man go and then looks around the strange yet comfortable room.

He’s been lured into the lap of luxury yet he feels dirtier and poorer than ever. He feels even more exposed than he had on the wintery nights spent in that refrigerator box behind the bar. He hates the Ricks he’s met on the Citadel. Each one offering what seems like innocent comfort only for their gentle hands to suddenly become gnarled claws ready to rip him apart. He’s been beaten, used, then thrown aside until he finds himself snatched off the street and then sold to the Assignment Centre in chains.

He is chattel. Something disposable.

Without thinking about it, Morty hugs himself.

He has to get out of here. Perhaps he can do what he did last time. Given the bedroom and the lack of touching so far, it seems like this Rick would respond well to seduction tactics.

God, Ricks really are disgusting aren’t they? Nodding off as though fucking and beating the living daylights out of their Morties doesn’t bother them in the slightest.

“Hey y-you okay?” the Rick sounds as gruff as ever but concern laces his tone. Morty tries not to scowl.

He doesn’t want to have sex with this Rick. All Ricks are old, sick, and ugly and having such grotesque _creatures_ touching him has never failed to make Morty feel dirty. He hates the thought of the man’s hands on him and tries not to imagine the pain that always follows. And this Rick was even uglier than the others. Morty shuddered to think what poor innocent alien—or maybe it was this Rick’s original Morty—had been through to finally snap and disfigure him. Morty’s gaze lingers on the man’s damaged face. It looks like a burn: something that leaves the man’s left eye nearly permanently half-closed. The eye itself is white.

Morty is no stranger to the grotesque. He just wishes he didn’t have to let them fuck him.

The Rick places Morty’s tea on the desk and casually leans against the surface, his arms folded and one side of his unibrow cocked.

“S-so I take it you don’t sign?” Rick asks curiously.

Morty shakes his head.

“Is it because you can’t? Or is it because you won’t?”

Morty picks up the pen and paper again.

**Can’t.**

Rick nods.

“Alrighty, well… h-how about I teach you then?” he suggests.

Morty frowns.

**You know sign language?**

Rick chuckles softly and Morty’s hair stands on end. He isn’t sure why but he dislikes this man’s laugh. There’s something particularly arrogant about it.

“I’m a _Rick_ , Morty,” Rick laughs. “I know everything.”

Of course.

“Hey, wh-why don’t you join me in the living room and we’ll watch some TV and I’ll order some dinner. You want pizza? Or maybe we could order Chinese...”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The evening is pleasant enough despite the awkwardness. Rick orders Morty a beef bowl and some fried rice and when they’ve both finished their meals he politely bids Morty goodnight.

Morty is admittedly a little surprised. He expected Rick to do _something_ by now or at least start outlining some restrictions. But instead, he seems willing to allow Morty to simply do whatever he likes.

Morty stands in the bathroom staring at his reflection. Even with the scar across his neck, Morty isn’t a bad looking kid. He just wishes he could do this without his knees knocking together.

Walking on tiptoe, Morty creeps into the master bedroom. He isn’t sure why he felt the need to be so quiet. Something about the high ceilings of the apartment, the way his footfalls echo on the hard floor, the deafening quiet of the deceptively sparse living space… it feels like moving through a museum in the dead of night.

Morty pushes open the door and gulps down the sick feeling of dread that threatens to burn its way up his parched throat. The floor in this room matches the rest of the penthouse and it is all he can do not to wake the sleeping man in the raised bed in the centre of the room.

Rick, of course, has fallen asleep hours ago but even though he is a very heavy sleeper, he still jerks himself awake when he suddenly feels the mattress dip next to him.

“Huh?” Rick groans. “What is— Morty, what are you doing?”

 _Stupid!_ Rick scolds himself. Of course the kid isn’t exactly going to be able to _tell him_ is he? Especially in the dark like this.

Rick squints through the gloom and sees that Morty isn’t wearing a shirt. Not too surprising, of course, the kid doesn’t own any pyjamas. But something about his nakedness feels a little unsettling.

“You okay?” Rick asks awkwardly and then slaps a hand to his forehead once again. Dammit! He _knows_ Morty can’t answer him.

He feels the kid slide in closer, nestling in against Rick’s side and Rick is surprised to find that Morty fits quite comfortably slotted in next to him like this. He can’t help a small smile at the revelation and chances an affectionate pat on the boy’s head.

Then Morty locks his arms around Rick and pulls him into a tight embrace.

Rick’s breath stops. The world falls away and Rick suddenly feels… warm. Like something hot and sweet is swelling deep inside him. Rick likens it to sitting next to a warm fireplace while it snows outside.

He hasn’t been hugged like this since his daughter was still alive.

His pleasant reverie is interrupted when he hears what may have been a voiceless whimper from Morty’s throat.

“H-hey now, it’s… I get it,” Rick murmurs softly. “You had a bit of a big day today. Sometimes all you—all you need is a big old hug.”

He is also, admittedly, more than a little flattered. Before now, he had the niggling feeling that Morty didn’t particularly like him and being surprised with a gesture of trust and affection like this is more than a relief. He strokes up and down Morty’s back soothingly and just holds him there in the dark while Morty stays close.

Morty shivers and Rick holds him a little tighter. This is actually quite nice. Maybe it won’t be too bad having a Morty in the house…

Morty then shifts slightly and Rick lets him go. He expects Morty to move away but instead Morty wriggles in even closer. The boy’s naked thigh rubs against Rick’s and… hang on, w-why is the kid naked?

“What—?”

And then, to Rick’s horror, Morty suddenly stretches up and slots his lips against Rick’s in an open-mouthed kiss.

Rick sees white for a moment as sparks dance across his vision. It takes a whole three seconds for Rick to properly fathom what the _fuck_ is happening before his brain catches up with the situation. Rick seizes Morty’s shoulders and violently shoves him away.

“Morty!” Rick gasps, suddenly scrambling away from the boy and turning on the bedside lamp. “W-w-what the—what the flaming hell do you think you’re doing?”

Morty just blinks at him stupidly and Rick rolls his eyes.

_Of fucking course._

Rick gets up, crosses the room to his cabinet and fishes out a pen and notepad before shoving the items at Morty.

“ _Explain_ yourself!” Rick says angrily. “Is—is this some kind of prank? Did Δ-42 put you up to this?”

Morty begins scribbling on the notepad and Rick snatches it off him before he can finish.

**I Want You**

Rick throws it back at him, hitting Morty in the chest and causing a flinch.

“No you fucking don’t!” Rick is yelling now and he isn’t sure why. His insides feel raw and hurt in a way that can’t be defined in words.

Morty looks both offended and confused and Rick slides a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You— Jesus Fucking _Christ,_ Morty!” Rick shakes his head. “That was— that is _never_ appropriate, understand?”

Morty looks lost and then livid. He seizes the notepad and scrawls:

**Then wtf do you want?**

The word has multiple lines beneath it that have almost torn through the paper.

“What do you mean?”

**Dinner. TV. You gave me a room right next to yours. I don’t understand. Isn’t this what you want?**

Rick is taken aback. “What? No! What the fuck? _No,_ Morty! What on earth gave you that idea?”

**Yor a Rick**

Rick jerks as though he’s been physically struck.

He’s angry—furious even—and a strong part of him wants to rip into Morty for being such a presumptuous little shit. But instead he chokes down his anger and deliberately calms himself.

Breathing slowly through his nostrils Rick asks carefully.

“Who told you that?”

Morty looks pensive for a moment and then writes:

**they told me that at the adoption centre**

Rick narrows his eyes. “If that’s the case, I’ll need to have a word with them,” he mutters seriously. Since Morty is still writing, Rick sits and reads Morty’s messy handwriting.

Of course, Morty was taken advantage of on the streets. It isn’t a shock but it is disappointing. The kid was lured into the arms of strangers with the promise of warm beds and hot meals. Jeez… it’s no wonder he seemed so fearful before, Rick had felt sure Morty was about to do a runner when he paused in the elevator.

**Isnt this just what Ricks do?**

Rick sighs and shakes his head. “No, Morty,” Rick explains patiently. “Ricks aren’t supposed to touch Morties. At least, n-not like that.”

Morty suddenly turns very pale and he looks shamefully down at his lap.

“Hey, hey, wh-what’s the matter?” Rick asks with concern as tears well up and then drip down Morty’s cheeks.

Morty shakes his head and as much as Rick prompts him to resume writing on the notepad, Morty keeps shaking his head and pushing it away. Rick places a kind hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“Morty, listen,” Rick says patiently, “I am admittedly not great at this but if you want to confide in someone, I know someone who may help. And I can promise you, Morty, you are safe here. No one is going to harm you.”

Morty rubs his eyes and Rick smiles at him as warmly as he can manage.

“Now let’s uhh… l-let’s get some pyjamas on you and then get you back to bed.”

  
  


TBC


End file.
